Thanksgiving - Just ice | Текст песни

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• Thanksgiving
• Just ice

Our little house is just drooping over
the lamp and the light and the windows
and for the fog the sickle shaped moon glows
through the wilderness so fantastically echoing
the voices of grave robbers
and the other weary wanderers
their breath is steam
they wiggle cold fingers
and we curl our toes
blankets hung over our door

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